Not Alone
by the.casket.was.bigger
Summary: Burt reflects on his son's relationship after hearing that they've officially used the "L" word. Fluffiest of fluff. Oneshot.


**This is perhaps the fluffiest thing I have ever written in my life. Quite the contrary to my other, ongoing story (which can be found here: http:/www. fanfiction. net/s/7092732/1/Handling_It, if you're so inclined - just take out the spaces between www. fanfiction. net- and only do that if you like the really sickeningly messed up sort of stuff). Anyways. This is just a oneshot sort of thing I scribbled down in a notebook while I was half-asleep, and then decided to type up because it was cute. I hope you enjoy it. :) Reviews make my heart leap the way Kurt's does when he looks at Blaine. Just sayin'. **

**Happy reading:**

Not Alone

Burt is in the kitchen washing dishes when he hears the front door open. A minute or so later, he is joined by his son, who smiles warmly and gives a nice, "hullo", as he goes to the cupboard to get a glass.

It is obvious simply by the way Kurt is moving that something's up. Not a bad something, at least it doesn't look it, but something is clearly occupying his mind. It's clear by the way he all but dances to the refrigerator, and by the way he pours juice haphazardly into his glass, like he's a million miles away. And as if that wasn't enough, he's wearing a dopy grin on his face, and he's humming.

Something's up.

"What are you so happy about?" Burt asks, turning away from the sink and crossing his soapy hands in front of him – inquisitive. Kurt merely shrugs.

"Nothing," he says in a voice that means the total opposite.

"Well, somethin's clearly gotcha on cloud nine. So come on, spill it."

Burt can see the red start to tinge the young boy's cheeks as he contemplates telling his father about whatever it is that's got him so giddy. His eyes have a sly sort of glisten to them as he fiddles with his glass, making the juice inside slosh to one side, then the other, and back again.

Finally, he says, flat out, in no uncertain terms, words as ecstatic as the smile on the mouth that's saying them,

"Blaine told me he loved me today."

Burt processes this information, taken aback ever so slightly. He's used to his son's giddiness being over new singing solos and performance opportunities. The new addition of things like, "Blaine asked me to do a duet with him." and "Blaine kissed me today." had been quite the transition, and he was just starting to get used to the idea of Kurt legitimately dating someone, and now – BLAM! This seems quick – too quick. He does a bit of mental math to try and remember how long the two boys have been seeing one another, perfectly aware that if he just asked Kurt, he'd know in an instant.

A million questions fill Burt's mind, but he only asks one of them.

"Did you say it back?"

Kurt's ecstatic grin turns into a shy one as he, very slowly, nods his head.

"I do love him, Dad," he tells his father, as if he's trying to convince Burt of the matter. The older man isn't as sure, mind suddenly wracked with new worries about his son getting heartbroken – worries that weren't there a few minutes ago when he had been calmly doing the dishes. But he doesn't voice these concerns. In fact, instead of showing any negative feelings, he forces a small smile, and tells his son a very simple,

"I know."

The next day, Blaine comes for dinner. He's not in uniform – school's already out for him – but his outfit still carries with it the same dapper-esque heir, as though it were a personality trait, rather than a style choice.

The whole family is seated at the table, and the meal is perfectly comfortable for everyone except Burt, who is tense in his chair, watching Blaine with the best hawk-eyes he can muster while still being inconspicuous. He's become wary towards this boy overnight, plagued with unnecessary concern about his love confession to his son – plagued in a way only a loving parent could be – wary with the best intentions.

He's not sure what exactly he's looking for while he stares at Blaine out of the corner of his eye. Maybe he thinks he can see dishonesty in his stature – detect ulterior motives in his mannerisms – but, truthfully, he doesn't seen anything of the sort.

What he does see is the young boy brushing his hand up against Kurt's when he thinks no one's looking. He sees him separating the peas from his vegetable medley on his plate, and spooning them onto Kurt's, while Kurt plops a few forkfuls of carrots onto Blaine's in exchange – neither of them asking the other to do so, but knowing it all instinctively.

Most importantly, he sees this young boy look at his son. He sees that Blaine looks at Kurt in a way that is completely recognizable to Burt. It's the way he, himself, looks at Carole. It's the way he used to look at Kurt's mother. It's a look that says only one thing: "I love you."

Burt stops staring, turning his head away guiltily, allowing the boys their privacy, ashamed for thinking less of Blaine for, what appears to be, no reason at all.

Later, Burt is in his room and is about to go to bed. Before he does, he glances out his window, where, down below on the front porch, Kurt and Blaine stand, both hands interlaced with one another, looking into each other's eyes with _that_ _look_.

They are muttering to each other, and Burt imagines their conversation:

"_Are you sure you're okay to drive? It's late."_

"_I'll be fine."_

"_Just be careful."_

"_I will." _

They're kissing now, and Burt is surprised at how _not_ put off by it he is. In fact, not only is he not put off, but he actually feels himself warm in appreciation for Blaine, as he watches him kiss his son with an heir of protection, want, and need radiating from him, all the way up to a second floor window.

Burt had had his doubts about this boy in the beginning, thinking it poor taste for him to profess feelings for his son so soon after the sex talk incident, and then judging his character after that. He had grown to respect Blaine, though, and even like him, but now? Now, as he looks down on him with his boy, kissing him like he's the only thing that really matters – it's this moment that solidifies him as an important part of his life. This is what makes him worth knowing – worth having around.

Because Burt can remember how at the beginning of this year he had warned his son that he may have to learn to be alone for a while. He had to tell Kurt that maybe there wasn't someone for him right now. It's not a lie to say that this is one thing Burt is completely okay with being wrong about, if it means he gets to see his son this genuinely happy.

Kurt, thankfully, is not alone.

A body moves in beside Burt, and he looks over to see Carole watch out the window as well. Down below, their kiss has been broken, only to be reestablished as Kurt grabs Blaine by the shoulders and pulls him back towards himself, making Burt and Carole chuckle.

They do eventually pull apart, and they mutter into each other's ears what Burt can only assume is their new language of "I love yous" using it generously now that it has been granted approval in their conversational habits.

"They love each other," Carole says quietly, but certainly. It's a statement, not a question.

"Yeah," Burt agrees, wrapping his arm around his wife. "They do."

"Come on. Come to bed. Let's give them some privacy."

So Burt forces himself to tear his eyes away from the scene outside.

He pulls the covers back on his side of the mattress, while Carole does the same on hers. They crawl in, exchange a kiss, and look at each other with _that_ _look_, as they tell one another their own "I love yous".

Drifting to sleep, the couple snuggles together, while out in front of the house, Kurt blows kisses as Blaine drives away. They cast each other telepathic "I love yous", meaning every syllable. Kurt then goes back inside, and gets ready for bed, prepared for whatever the next day will bring.


End file.
